


Prices to Pay

by HauntedByDayDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas just wants his Dean to feel himself again, Comfort, Confused Dean Winchester, Dying Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Happy Winchesters, M/M, undiscovered feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedByDayDreams/pseuds/HauntedByDayDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>But more recently, Dean had began to notice a pattern, one that concerned him greatly. Every night Dean slept soundly, with comforting or no dreams at all to be remembered the next morning; and every day he found a little bit more of the darkness still dwindling at the recesses of his mind fading away into nothingness.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>And every day Cas stumbled out of his bedroom, looking like he'd been to Hell and back. </em></p><p> </p><p>Set in an AU where Dean learns to live with the Mark after being cured of being a demon.<br/>Dean is growing stronger and happier by the day, but why is Castiel seemingly withering away? Dean intends to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prices to Pay

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking the other day about "what ifs" on the show. What if Dean learned to live with the Mark and Amara was never released? What if Castiel therefore didn't get his grace back? What if the Winchesters had a moment to breathe? 
> 
> Beware spoilers if you haven't seen seasons nine and up! (I've thought for a while now that Castiel is aware of his own feelings for Dean, while Dean is still questioning his own). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! <3

Dean was sleeping better than he had in weeks.

On top of waking up feeling rested for once in his life, he always felt more chipper, smoother, as though an edge that he didn't know he'd even had, had been worn away. The melancholy that had clouded his mind ever since the Mark of Cain seemed to be in almost a remission, emerging only on the worst days, the ones that weighed too heavily on him and Sammy. When a hunt went wrong, when too many people died. Those days were few and far between now, and he was thankful for it.

With his new lease on life, Dean had busied himself in not only the duties associated with hunting, but also menial tasks around the bunker, like buying groceries and fixing that leaky faucet they'd been ignoring for a few months now. His cheerful demeanor had not gone unnoticed by Sam. Dean often caught glimpses of Sam happily watching him do whatever it was he was doing at the time, a small smile gracing his lips. When Dean would confront him, asking what he was looking so happy for, Sam would just grin even wider and shake his head.

"You seem like _you_ again," he confided in him late one night as they pored over some files and guzzled hot coffee to stay awake.

"I feel like me again," Dean had agreed.

Not everything in the bunker was sunshine and lollipops all of the time, though. Dean was growing steadily more worried about Castiel, who had come to stay with them after the events with the Mark had transpired. The phlegmatic angel never necessarily said anything was wrong, but it was no secret anymore that the seraph was running on stolen grace, and therefore borrowed time. It was an ever looming problem that threatened to strike down the Winchesters with death and tragedy at any moment, and Dean's heart softened with pity every time he saw his friend attempting to mask his dire state with an impassive expression.

Lately Castiel seemed to be getting worse, and for all he wracked his brain Dean couldn't figure out why. He frowned every time he noticed that the circles under Cas's eyes had deepened, and his insides had twisted when one day, with a sallow pallor, Castiel announced that he was going to rest in his room for a while, standing unsteadily on his feet and leaving the library. Dean had stopped by his room later to check on him and, upon receiving no response to his knocking, he'd pushed open the door and gone inside. 

Castiel had been curled up on his bed, the blankets and sheets untouched, in only his white button-up shirt and pants. His shoes rested together neatly against the side of the bed and his coats were folded over the headboard. Dean had ventured closer, brows knitting together in consternation when he noticed the thin sheen of sweat covering Castiel's face. Upon leaving the room, he had immediately returned to the ever daunting struggle of trying to track down the location of Castiel's remaining grace, promising himself he would redouble his efforts to recover any lost time.

He didn't want to even imagine life without his feathery friend, much less become trapped in it.

But more recently, Dean had began to notice a pattern, one that concerned him greatly. Every night he slept soundly, with comforting or no dreams at all to be remembered the next morning; and every day he found a little bit more of the darkness still dwindling at the recesses of his mind fading away into nothingness.

And every day Cas stumbled out of his bedroom, looking like he'd been to Hell and back. Again. Soon Dean began to notice these little glances Castiel would shoot him throughout the day; a pleased, self-satisfied sort of look, brimming around the edges with exhaustion. A sneaking suspicion began to form to Dean, one that he didn't like to think about at all.

He would test it, he decided, tonight. 

Dean waited for the longest time, laying immobile cozied up in his bed as he normally would, the room swallowed up in darkness. He fought an onslaught of fatigue brought on by the absence of light coupled with the warmth of his sheets, pinching himself once or twice to remain alert. If something was going to happen, it better happen fast or soon enough he'd be out like a light. Deep down, he hoped that he was keeping himself up over nothing. That his suspicions were unfounded and he was worrying about a figment of his imagination's own making.

He sensed rather than heard him; Dean flipped over in bed and snagged at the arm in the darkness, dragging it with him as he crawled across the bed to turn on the lamp. When light flooded the room it revealed Castiel blinking at him owlishly, Dean still grasping his right arm so that he was pulled halfway onto the bed.

"What the hell, Cas." The growl in Dean's voice surprised him. Realizing he was still clinging to Castiel's arm he relinquished his hold, allowing the angel to push himself up and perch awkwardly at the foot of the bed. Castiel side-eyed him apprehensively, his lips pulled into a thin line that made his jaw look all the squarer. Dean made note of his tousled bed-hair and lack of coats, wondering if he'd just woken up. It was hard to tell now when the angel always looked two skips and a hop from blacking out.

"Dean, I..." Castiel averted his eyes, his expression indecipherable.

"What have you been doing to me at night, man?" He'd meant to sound angry but his voice betrayed his true emotions, cracking with a disconsonant chord of worry.

Cas's gaze trailed up to his own slowly, his wide blue eyes ensnaring Dean's own green.

"I noticed," Castiel began, then turned his head away again, "I noticed you weren't sleeping well. I just dispelled the nightmares for you."

"Cas, you're a horrible liar. Curing a few bad dreams wouldn't put you looking like you'd been vacationing in Purgatory for the last week." 

Castiel squinted at him perplexedly, as if unsure of how to advance in the conversation, then dropped his gaze once again, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the wallpaper. "You're rid of the Mark, but some of its ill-effects still linger," he deadpanned in a fashion that only Castiel could. "The darkness still has a grip on your soul, and that isn't something that you can just heal from on your own. So I've been..."

"Chasing away the darkness," Dean finished after a pause, troubled. Castiel looked at him long and hard, a tender look in his blue eyes that Dean never would have seen there six or seven years ago. Castiel had changed more than either he or his brother in all of the years they'd known the angel; and if he was to be believed, that first inkling of doubt and disobedience had first been introduced to him by Dean himself. As much as Dean wanted to believe that all of Cas's metamorphosizes had been for the better, developing an angel with a soft heart and strong will, he blamed himself for all of the pain Castiel had been through. He blamed himself for Castiel's fading grace. "You have to stop, Cas," he said finally, firmly.

"Dean," Castiel began to protest, a tired look crossing his face, but Dean shook his head.

"Don't _"Dean"_ me. Your party tricks are supposed to be put away, remember? Or do you wanna use up your battery before we get you sorted out?" Castiel's probing eyes searched his own, almost as if reading his thoughts- crap. He could actually do that. Dean looked away quickly.

"I'm only trying to help." Castiel's gravelly voice was low, earnest. Dean hated that stupid bleeding heart of Castiel's that made him want to put everyone else's life before his own; he hated Castiel for giving up so soon.

"You always try, though, don't you?" Dean's voice was shrill, caustic. Castiel stiffened on the end of the bed. "When you screw up, that's always your defense. _"I was trying to help."_ "

Castiel stood up abruptly, his back to the hunter. "I suppose I never learned my lesson." Dean's dropped into his stomach when he heard the transparent hurt in his voice. Sometimes he forgot that this was no longer the angel who would stonily threaten to throw him back into Hell when got snarky with him; this was a whole separate person, and one who was still clumsily trying to figure out his own emotions. Dean sprang forward on the bed, catching the seraph's wrist before he could leave.

"No, wait. I'm sorry, man. That's not... That's not even why I'm upset, I don't know why..."

Castiel's chest deflated with a sigh as he sat down again, Dean's hold guiding him closer near him on the bed. "You think that I'm ready to die," he said solemnly, "but I'm not. I realize that there is little hope for me, though, and... Well, I want to do some good before the metaphorical curtain closes. Give you some peace of mind-"

"To hell with peace of mind if it means I lose more time with you," interjected Dean heatedly. Cas looked at him sharply but Dean continued on. "You're already running dry on your mojo, so don't you dare use it for anything else. At least until we find where Metatron stashed what was left of your grace."

"If he was even telling the truth about-"

"Don't even go there. He was telling the truth, and you know how I know?" Castiel cocked his head to the side inquisitively. "Because the universe has been giving us nothing but crap lately and it's time we got a break."

"That sort of infallible logic is hard to reason against," Castiel said with a small smile. Then he froze, smile melting away, his gaze locked on Dean's. They were sitting very close together now, and Castiel could see every freckle on Dean's face, every shade of green in his eyes. Almost unaware of his own actions, Castiel reached out to caress Dean's face, all at once needing to know the way his stubble would feel under his fingers; Dean pulled away, pushing at Cas's arm.

Castiel flinched, curling his arm back to his chest as though it had been wounded. Something cold and painful unfurled in his chest and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to leave. 

"I'm sorry."

As Castiel began to stand up again to leave, Dean suddenly realized his mistake. In the moment he had been afraid Cas was reaching out to heal him, despite his pleading, but now it seemed he'd hurt him. Confused but not wanting the angel to leave, Dean grabbed for him a third time, this time seizing his hand.

"Wait, Cas, no." Castiel didn't look at him. "What did you think- what were you- I thought you were-" Castiel craned his neck to look back at him dubiously, and this time Dean knew that he was indeed searching his thoughts. Then Castiel was kneeling in front of him, and for some reason he couldn't discern Dean's stomach flip-flopped when he realized they were still holding hands. He wondered if Cas had noticed, too, but he doubted the angel would even have understood the connotations if he had. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he wanted him to, surprising him, and he tried to shove that thought away before Cas could happen across it.

Castiel smiled, a genuine smile, if small. "Goodnight, Dean," he said in a low, rich tone, eye contact unwavering, and Dean's heart responded by pounding fiercely in his chest. Dean's mouth had gone dry, and he was unable to respond as Castiel squeezed at his hand and left the room.

Bewildered, Dean wondered what Cas had seen in his head that granted him one of those rare smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the read!


End file.
